Bad Romance
by Gothika Faerie
Summary: Esmeralda's musings over her married life to Frollo and how she has come to grow fond of him even though she knows she will never truly love him. Warning: lemon!


Title: Bad Romance

Summary: Esmeralda muses over her growing feelings and life with Frollo after their marriage and discovers that, even though they are no love story, they certainly are a bad romance that needs to be written. Frollo/Esmeralda

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rated: M for erotic content

A/N: Note that both Frollo and Esmeralda are married here. There is quite graphic sexual content here so if such things easily offend anyone, please just skim through or don't read at all.

I never even fathomed that I could find any good qualities within him. I guess when you have been married to a prejudiced, narrow-minded and judgmental maniac who's hell-bent on committing genocide because he's got this crazy notion God wants him to do it for a while, he tends to grow on you. Believe or not, I have actually grown quite fond of that old, cold-blooded minister whom forced me to marry him in exchange for my, and my people's freedom.

Alright, I admit fond is too strong a word. Much too great a leap from hatred and disgust. I theorize that somehow that vile pervert managed to worm his way into my heart with his baritone voice that I begrudgingly feel is quite attractive and his unwavering devotion towards me.

Of course, before I was highly revolted by his brazenly insane burning of Paris, hoping to find me. I had thought him a lunatic; a lustful wretch whom did not care for others safety and feelings. However, I was no naïve fool no matter what any man perceives me to be. I could not forever ignore his fearsome loyalty to me, his carnal desire to have me; the blazing fires of desperate need in his normally cold granite eyes. After all, what man would burn a city down to the ground until all that's left is charred remains just to find a certain girl?

Yes, he had been maniacal that night. The fearful night of my execution. His proposal still rings true in my ear. It was either be his lover, his wife one day or perish in a scalding pit of flames until I was nothing more but a blackened cadaver. I really could not handle death by fire. The mere vivid imagery of my skin being excruciatingly and slowly melting off my bone had been too much. So, in all my defiant bitterness, I chose him. In exchange of course for my freedom as well as my people's.

God, that night I just wanted to claw off his arrogant smirk of triumph.

I believe now, dear reader, you are very inquisitive on how he could get me to finally accept and even relish his touch, kiss and presence. It was a long, frustrating process but he managed to get me to warm up to him.

I had felt like this was the worst of my follies during our wedding preparations. However, shockingly enough, when he transported me back to the Palace of Justice, he did not lay a finger on me. Yes, he had forced me to kiss him when we reached my bedroom, something I had managed to fight off. But, he did not force himself on me like how I had feared and dreaded. He disdainfully declared that he would not dream of sharing a bed with a heathen witch before she married him.

Ooh, I wanted to murder his pompous ass right there and then.

He just chuckled darkly at my murderous glare and stroked my cheek with his spidery finger, informing me that after our marriage, the real fun shall soon begun. I had scoffed at this, turning away in obvious disgust at his blatant flirting. Boy, was I in for a damnable yet bloody good shock!

I was shaking like a leaf on a blustery day in my exquisite white lace-wedding gown Frollo had ordered, specially tailored for my measurements. He, however was just as reserved and elegant as he always with a victorious smirk dancing over his thin, dark lips. I had to resist the urge to pound his face in that night.

After the priest he summoned from Burgundy droned out his tiresome speech about two people uniting and all that long, boring stuff, he finally asked us whether we were willing to take each other as husband and wife. I would have actually refused and declared that I would never marry a genocidal pervert but Frollo had fixed me with a withering glare, warning me that my friends' lives were at stake if I did not obediently take him. So, I dryly said 'I do'.

He, on the other hand, was practically bursting with enthusiasm when the priest asked whether he wished me to be his lawfully wedded wife. I had never seen anyone say 'I do' so fast before in my life. Then, he slipped on the emerald ring he had promised me a day before our wedding day. It was a magnificent gemstone set in gold, I'm not going to lie that it wasn't.

He grasped me after that, kissing me so desperately hard that my lips felt slightly bruised before wrapping his arms around me. I remember shuddering in repulse, feeling his massive erection pressing into my hipbone due to our very close proximity. I could still clearly remember his possessive words.

"_Esmeralda…mine at last."_

The next couple of hours after that were pure ecstasy. No, I am not being sarcastic at all. In all honesty and reluctance, I must admit that Frollo was a savage beast in our bedroom. Especially during our consummation. The man had been feral, famished for my body. He had me roughly pinned beneath him, trembling with fear. I was all set to despise him with my life at that point. I was so ready to vow that I would never love such a monster. I was right there, prepared to wish a million torturous omens to befall him.

Then, he kissed me.

One stupid, ill judged and deliciously good kiss and I was a sunken ship.

Ha! It had been a moment of weakness, I convinced myself again and again. However that moment turned into many more moments, each one hotter and more sensual than the next. Phew! I should never wax poetic about my lovemaking sessions with my husband without a glass of cold wine handy. As much as I tried to resist, I found myself intoxicated by his poison. The flames that were rampant in his touch enraptured me, ensnaring me into their erotic trap. I was helpless, wanting more when I should not, cannot, must not.

His kiss was scorching! It the same as when one gets him or herself branded by the hot iron of the blacksmith's molten lead. His top lip had brushed itself against my bottom lip so sensuously, I felt warm and tingly. That gentle contact intensified quickly. He kissed me furiously, desperately, his maddening lust blatantly felt through it. His tongue had poked through the barrier of the mashing of our lips and begun exploring boldly, adventurously in my warm, hungry mouth.

I found myself, loathingly, enjoying his brazen tongue play and even hungrily reciprocating. I always had been impressed with men whom could kiss a woman breathless. He was inexperienced, yes, but his intense passion more than made up for it. His burning lips then found my throat and sucked and nibbled at the sensitive, warm flesh there. Oh, I could not hold back my moans as he continued enticing me, tempting me to enjoy him.

His touch was teasing, surprisingly tender and sensuous. Those stupid, beautiful were bred to touch only truly spectacular things like silk or rich velvet. They palmed my breasts, rolling and fondling my nipples into hardened pink rosebuds. His starving mouth found its way around one and he began to nip and suck at it, increasing the pleasure I was feeling tenfold. His hands trailed an erotic pattern down the outlines of my curves. He would hold onto my hips as he kissed my shoulders and collarbones.

Oh God, when his fingers found my sensitive, drenched clit, I was writhing and panting. He massaged me daintily at first. Simply letting his fingertips skim over the hills and valleys of my aroused womanhood. Oh Lord, it had been such an evil torture! Thankfully, he mercifully inserted a finger within me before pumping it in and out of me, a preview of what his hard cock would do to me next. He then added another finger, which succeeded in making me moan louder in my need. The addition of yet another finger caused me to go mad. I was bucking my hips violently off the bed, wanting him to just fuck me until I would just explode all over him.

His body was devastating by the way. Who knew what laid underneath those swallowing black robes was so unexpectedly desirable. He had broad shoulders, a lean chest ribbed with hard muscles dusted with fine, silver wisps of hair, long sculpted arms, a finely chiseled abdomen, muscled and slender legs and dainty feet. He was also _very_ well endowed. In fact, if I were to take actually measurements, he was a very hard, thick and straight twelve inches.

His movements within me were rhythmically slow. He would push into me an inch before pulling out. He would push into me deeper then pull out again. He was driving me insane, getting me all wet, slippery and more than ready for some really good penetration. His cock felt heavenly, stretching the tightened, wet walls of my slit that hadn't received as much ecstasy as what most women have rumored. I nearly passed out at the sheer delicious taste of the friction between us. His cock massaged tantalizingly within my wet cavern. He would rock in and out of me hard and then slow down, taking his time to grind me to my breaking point. The pressure he put on my swollen bud was absolute torment! I was close, very close. And he knew it. All it took was just one more hard, rough and deep thrust and all my walls of restraint and coldness came collapsing down on me.

Nothing could compare to that explosive, passionate, body clenching, juices flowing, sweat-drenched and delicious moment when we both climaxed violently together, during the same time interval. I recall screaming his name at the top of my lungs as I clenched his private in a death grip before releasing my hot juices all over him before hearing him moan pleasurably, allowing his warm wetness to gush out of him, embracing me tightly all the while. After all that consummation and we were officially and emotionally labeled husband and wife, he immediately rolled over to envelope me in his muscled arms, whispering sweet nothings in my ear about my exotic beauty and my sinful curves. Strangely, I allowed him that night.

Yes, I felt guilty and rather ashamed that I could not resist the venomous touch of a hateful madman whom loathed my kind. Yet, at the same time, I felt so unbelievably and totally satisfied that all my negative feelings just seemed to dissipate in mere seconds.

Should I mention that after that he took me another five more times?

Oh yes, reader, I was a _very_ happy bride the next morning.

Come morning, I did feel slightly saddened and guilty that Frollo could warm my icy reception towards him so quickly but at the same time, it was for the best. If I were to be bound to him for all eternity, I needed at least something to look forward to. I received and relished all he could give me every night…at times even during the day. Sex became our crude yet lasting bond. A sort of understanding, a compromise, a time where we forgot all about our treacherous history and just lose ourselves in each other's bare anatomical makeup and passionate embrace.

Miraculously, soon I began to enjoy his company when sex was not on the agenda. Note it didn't happen in a blink of an eye. I could readily accept and give wonderful sex but I was still wary of him wanting to talk to him, care for him and love him like a true wife would as I still did not love him, at least not like how he would want. Still, I at least, decided to try. For during this period of time, I wondered if Frollo was really falling in love with me. True, it had always been this raw, animalistic craving for sex but now, I worried that his feelings ran deeper. Mine hadn't and I didn't believe they would ever change.

I had been surprised that fateful day when he requested my presence in his bedchamber. I had arrived, all psyched for another round of mindless erotic activity when he simply requested me to tell him about my day. I had been suspicious, paranoid even about his sudden interest in my life. He, however, simply smiled and just told me he wanted to know. It was quite weird to see him smile at me quite lovingly as he would usually smirk lustfully whenever he saw me. Deciding not to question him further as it might evolve into an argument, I began rattling on about how my day went.

He was, amazingly, a very attentive listener. A witty converser. He had immense knowledge of France, history, literature and the arts. He also possessed a very unexpected wicked sense of humor, which never failed to make me giggle or blush. It shocked me that for about three hours, we had been talking enthusiastically non-stop about indifferent matters and neither of us had noticed. He was pleased, however and thanked me for the interesting chat. Then, he kissed lightly on the cheek and told me to go wash up for dinner.

The days following this conversation were very enjoyable and we weren't even having sex in the afternoons! Of course, we had the occasional sex session during the day when we were both desperately horny and stifled. I swear I still wonder how that old wooden desk in his office still stands sturdily after all the that has played out on it. When he was not working, we spent almost every waking hour of the day together.

We would talk lively about anything and everything under the sun. He would tease me and then, I would return my taunts eagerly. I never imagined the upright, strait-laced and arrogant minister could be so humorous and flirtatious. It felt quite startling at first to have him touch, hold and kiss during the day without going any further as I would either reciprocate easily or freeze in his arms. However, the problem was a momentary one and didn't bother me after a while. I even managed to gain his trust and ended up persuading him to allow me to leave the palace for a while so I would not feel so imprisoned. Granted, of course, that he went with me.

During the occasional times when he would actually have long periods of off time, he would take me to the more exotic spots of Paris. He escorted me to pristine country areas, luscious beaches and magnificent vacation spots, showering me with foreign presents he purchased there such as fine jewelry, musky perfumes and naughty nightgowns of expensive silk. There we spent the most tantalizing times making love in the private property he owned in these places. So, you see dear reader, you really cannot blame me for growing fond of him during the many months we shared together.

However, like every married couple, we had our little spats. Especially over how he was still picking my people of the streets when they were begging. In fact, our spats actually escalated into full-blown fights that even ended up physical. I didn't talk or made love with him for a whole week after he slapped me rather violently during our last fight. I even denied his presence whenever he tried to coax me out of my bedroom. Soon, the fires eventually cooled within us and incredibly, he apologized to me. I did not readily forgive him but I at least allowed him to hold me in his arms.

The man was so full of surprises. Once, he had left for a business trip a few days before our anniversary. I had felt so ignored and forgotten during this time as I had actually been looking forward to it. Imagine my shock when I opened the door of my bedroom, initially hoping to take a nap, wanting to take my mind of his thoughtlessness and instead, standing, my mouth wide open at the sight of our wedding bed adorned with rose petals, lit scented candles, velvet sheets and two awaiting glasses of wine. Best of all was Frollo lying on the bed, clad in nothing but his form-fitting black hose.

God, he looked delicious. No prize for those who can guess what happened after my blissful discovery.

Yes, my marriage to Frollo was no love story. There was no handsome knight riding on a valiant steed, rescuing me from a life of loneliness. This wasn't the traditional fairytale happy ending most women fantasize about. However, I discovered throughout the months I was happy. I may not love him like how he would wish me too but I was actually happy.

It felt unfair to him though to love someone whom will never love him back. I could never erase and completely forget our hateful past but at least now I could readily allow him in my arms, my presence and our wedding bed.

Now, I am lying in his arms, satiated and semi-exhausted. We had just finished another night of frantic and passionate fornication and he had his arms languidly wrapped around my panting frame, his crooked nose buried in my dark forest of hair, inhaling my scent and whispering to me.

I distinctly heard his words that night.

"_Je T'aime, Mon Cherie." _I love you, my sweetheart.

He does not expect me to say it back. I don't. However, he knows. He knows that now I am happy and contented in his arms. He was no prince. He was not really my ideal man no matter how good he was in our bed. Yet, he is my loving husband, my engaging lover and my partner for life.

We are indefinitely characters woven into a tale.

A bad romance.

A/N: Whew! This was exhausting! I expect reviews!


End file.
